The Marriage Swap

8 | 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚝

I've never been able to cry since a young age. Maybe it's a medical condition. Or maybe something in me froze the day I saw a woman's eyeballs being dug out because she cried. There was so much blood. . . I was five years old and it was the last time I cried.

Kai Park has been in a blissful high these past months, he can't stop talking about Sienna and their first kiss and their stolen moments. I can write as well as Kai now, if you excuse the handwriting. But something feels wrong. It's way too calm. The calm before the storm kind of calm.

I don't like it.

~from the journal entries of Daisy

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☘︎ Eᴠᴇ Kᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ ☘︎

The day I start listening to people, would be the day alphabets stop inserting themselves into math equations.

"Your security team will arrive tomorrow once I've handpicked them myself. I'd appreciate if you don't leave the house today at any circumstance. If you happen to get yourself caught, abducted or killed by Michael's guards, I will not be responsible. I, however, would not want this contract to be eliminated and thus for me to be left searching for another bride because of it." Axel had conveyed his mini speech with an expression so indifferent, I'd wondered for a moment whether he was a dead starfish.

Now after successfully escaping the Hernandez Villa by deactivating the laser system, I walk out the front door confidently, knowing Axel isn't going to be home from work till midnight and Tori will remain cooped in her supposed lab as per the chatterbox Pakistani chef Amna's words. Newton bless the woman.

There's a pinch of guilt I try to push down my sternum as I drive the Rolls Royce, one of the many cars in the parking building of Hernandez estate, the keys to which Axel gave me only to use after tomorrow. The guards don't stop me at the gate, indicating Axel hasn't given them any orders to block me from leaving the premises like I'm some prisoner. He'd just asked me not to leave politely, as polite as Axel Hernandez could get anyways and he'd expected I'll take his advice.

The guilt amplifies a bit more, but I focus on driving to the black market, pushing the feeling all away.

When you have motives to chase, you can't give in to distractions.

...

Half an hour later, I'm halting the car right outside the dim-lit street where puddles greet you at every step and under-the-table dealings are just the beginning of dark trades, the street where you can find intel that could destroy a rich man or woman. Locking the car behind me, I'm satisfied I chose to pair the Dior boots instead of heels with my ivory crop-top and denim shorts.

I walk past the many vendors set up in tents selling illegal materials within their stalls, out in the open without any fear of the government officials finding them. Because a lot of high-level corrupted officials themselves make a hell lot of profit from these markets. My footsteps come to a halt when I find the stall I'd been here for.

Marino, one of Juliette's many allies, a Russian forties man with a flamboyant smile, greets me the moment I approach him, "You must be Dona Juliette's friend, ya?"

"Bingo!" I smile widely, my eyes instantly latching onto the aluminum container with the initials 'MIC' printed over it. There's a tube attached which helps transfer the liquid to another container when needed, without exposing it to the environment.

Following my sight, Marino lifts the container and holds it out to me, "The chemical ya wanted. The payment is already settled. Just want to warn, this is not a chemical you play around with. It's extremely toxic and explosive when exposed to water or air."